


You Have No Idea How Much I Crave You

by ForeverEvan



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, M/M, Mild Smut, Same-Sex Marriage, but it's mild i swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-08-01 23:38:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16294115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForeverEvan/pseuds/ForeverEvan
Summary: 10 years after the Battle of Hogwarts, and the Golden Trio have gone their separate ways. Hermione, now employed by MACUSA, travels back to the UK for a party at Malfoy Manor, and has no idea her friends conspire to ensure she lets loose and has a good time.





	You Have No Idea How Much I Crave You

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [HalloweenHarmonyComp2018](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/HalloweenHarmonyComp2018) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
>  
> 
> A naughty costume party among friends makes Hermione and Harry realize that they’re attracted to each other.
> 
> This piece was written for Something Wicked This Way Comes, a Harmony & Co Halloween One-Shot Competition. All canon characters, plots, dialogue, and situations from the Harry Potter series belongs to JK Rowling. I am not profiting from this work. I would also like to thank my beta who will be unveiled at the end of this competition.

New York City in the fall season was something to behold, and Hermione always favored the changes that turned the city into a picturesque masterpiece right before her eyes. The trees abandoned their dull green in favor of hues from oranges to yellows and reds. The air was crisper, and smells sharper. The crowds were growing by the moment, and she was happy to duck into the Woolworth Building, eyes down as her feet led to the secret entranceway. 

 

Wiggins and Bloomerton each tipped their hat to Hermione as they rushed past. Just as she entered the secure headquarters, Bloomerton muttering an apology about the Johnston kid levitating sidewalk chalk in Central Park again on his way out. Hermione’s eyes flew up to the magical threat exposure clock to see it on level two, and she chuckled. The Johnston girl, Tiffany, was only three and already on first name basis with half the MACUSA staff. She was going to be one hell of a witch when she became of age.

 

She continued all the way to her office, sliding her leather shoulder satchel into its place on the mahogany shelf. Books, reams of paper and other general office supplies were tidy, items in their predictable places. Moving photographs in ornate wooden frames captured moments with her friends from Hogwarts, and her moments after. Hermione’s acceptance into the Ministry’s junior partnership training, the promotion to Senior Undersecretary for the Minister of Magic in Great Britain, her special assignment to come to work for MACUSA with the Magical Law Enforcement Division. However, studies and work had consumed her life. There were no social photographs here. 

 

Hermione felt, even for the briefest of moments, a longing for the simpler times she had with her dearest Hogwarts friends. It was easy to lose herself in the memories of her schoolmates, all very much missed - even Ron - as she moved around the furniture to take a seat at her desk.

 

But those friends did not match the voice calling her name from the doorway. “Long time, Granger …”

 

Hermione jumped, her right knee hitting the underside of the desk with zero grace. “Ouch! Malfoy, you dung flinging ape from …”

 

“Granger, your filthy mouth is just the same as ever,” he chided coyly, letting himself in without waiting for an invitation. He sat in the visitor’s seat, propping his feet up on the corner of her desk, crossed at the ankles. “Although if memory serves, last time you also chucked a book at my head.”

 

“I just might be willing to repeat that scene,” Hermione admonished, but her tone was softer this time. “It’s been a long while since you came to visit. How’s Dean?” 

 

Draco and Dean were flatmates after Hogwarts. Now they were out as a unified couple, in a move that shocked just about everyone. But Hermione had always liked Dean Thomas, and once Draco’s parents came around, the scandal died down. They were in the process of adopting twins from Egypt, and Narcissa was over the moon. Lucius, still recovering from his time at Azkaban, was also welcoming the distraction of an expanding family - still making noise however that a blood heir would be desired. Draco was having none of it though, and vowed the Malfoy blood would end with him.

 

“Dean wants to name our kids Phineas and Nigel,” Draco dropped the bomb as if he felt it was the most ridiculous thing on the planet. “I should mention we are having a boy and girl.” 

 

Hermione’s eyebrows furrowed in surprise as she tried to figure out who belonged to what name, and Draco laughed. “Precisely my reaction. I have about a month to convince him that those names are a crock of shit before they arrive.”

 

“So if you and Dean are welcoming two bundles of joy in the next month … Why are you here?” Hermione asked quizzically, leaning back in her chair. She narrowed her eyes distrustfully, eyeing Draco’s face. It wasn’t that Hermione wasn’t happy to see him, but … it was complicated, after all. 

 

Draco shrugged. “The good ol’ Ministry of Magic is throwing a bit of a Halloween Ball, and you are invited. Isn’t your job focused on International Relations, or some such? Anyway, Dean says you have our guest room, and you better be ready to share arm candy duty, since I have to work this thing and Ron is not invited. We all took a vote and decided you are the lesser of two evils.”

 

“Malfoy -”  Hermione protested. “Halloween is in two weeks.”

 

“Precisely why you need to stop dragging your feet, Granger!” Draco stood dramatically, holding his wand in his right hand. It flicked up and in a small half circle. The wordless spell resulted in an invitation appearing on her desk as Draco slid out, possibly avoiding any more chucked items aimed at his head. “You arrive two days before the big B, don’t be late!”

 

*****

 

“Hermione Granger, if you try to wear these grandmother Frankenstein abominations out of this mansion, I will PERSONALLY have your eyes peeled!” 

 

Hermione’s voice responded in a flat tone with absolutely zero amusement. “Dean. It’s only a formal robe.”

 

The bickering pair stood on opposite ends of the guest bedroom bed, Hermione’s dress robes for formal work occasions laid out. They were cut conservatively, and made of a deep brown that made the hazel in her eyes pop. But they were plain, Hermione had to admit. They were what she would akin to a witches’ pantsuit set.

 

“Hermione. This will NOT get you laid. This is a party for the younger up and coming generation to let loose - all in the name of magical cooperation. And if you show up to the ball in this, Draco will banish me to the couch until March.” Dean was practically rolling in his undug grave, dramatically pressing the back of his hand to his forehead. “I am far too young to not have relations with my husband. And you are far too young to write off any chances of getting one.”

 

There was a short silence, followed immediately by a thud. One of her house slippers hit Dean right in the face. 

 

“AND YOU ARE A VIOLENT WITCH!” Dean yelled in dramatic response, picking up his wand and pointing it at Hermione’s robe set. “ _Bombarda_!”

 

“NO!!” Hermione cried, but it was too late. Her robes were completely dashed to bits, some of them singed and smoking. She looked from the mess on her coverlet up to Dean, face overcome with shock. “Dean - what am I supposed to wear tonight?!”

 

Dean smirked. “Leave it to me, Hermione. I have just the thing. Consider it payback for the slipper.”

 

*****

 

Hermione swore every swear she knew from both the UK and USA. It did nothing to quell Dean as he went to work on his masterpiece. She was affixed with a blindfold as Dean outfitted his schoolmate in something that felt long but definitely had slits that went too high for her liking. Once she was clothed, without undergarments (although the dress was too tight to require them), she was covered in a silk robe and the blindfold was removed. Hair was smoothed and pulled up in a messy sort of way that suited her face. Her lips and eyes were painted in the fashionable way, and Hermione had to admit she liked the look. Just as Dean was musing over his creation, Draco peeked in. “Hey Dean, I … What the hell, Granger?”

 

“Stop it,” Dean chidded, picking up a hairbrush as if brandishing a weapon to protect Hermione’s reputation in a duel. “Hermione looks lovely. And I have every intention of getting her laid tonight.”

 

“Dean, I really don’t think that’s why I am -”

 

“Hush it, Granger. This is between me and my favorite pain in the ass. I can’t take you both on right now,” Dean winked. “Draco, go get ready. I am going to fix Hermione here a drink and we apparate in 10.”

 

“Roger, babe,” Draco chuckled and disappeared. 

 

Hermione turned to rail on Dean. “I am not going to get laid tonight, I am here on business.”

 

Dean merely smiled, before turning his back to the bar. Of course he had a bar inside of his bathroom. “Hermione, you saw the guest list. Very few wizards will be older than we are, babe.” He turned around, holding a glass out to her that matched his own. “Brandy?”

 

She took the glass a little rougher than she meant to, but managed not to spill the liquid on herself. She downed it all in three large gulps, holding the glass back out. Dean took it, astonished. “Well, the smell of new parchment and spearmint toothpaste may not have worn off from my school days, but I am too old for these kinds of games. Why would they hold such a lavish party for just younger staff?”

 

“Retention, mostly,” Dean admitted, finishing his own glass and setting them on the marble vanity. “And they want us to be the generation that actually talks things out, and works together. Or some other fluffy nonsense. Anyway, long story short, tonight they want us to let our hair down and be a little wild. And it’s fine. Draco and I will have your back.”

 

“Honestly, that’s what I am worried about.”

 

“Don’t be … Draco really has become a softie. And you know I’ve always had your back. Another glass?” Before she could answer, he turned to fill them once more. Hermione sighed, but was pleasantly surprised to find she was not as annoyed as she expected she would be.

 

*****

 

“Go on, Hermione. You look lovely.” Draco was being earnest. His face betrayed shock not that long before, but now he was on board with Dean. “In fact, I may have to leave my husband for you.”

 

“Shut it, Malfoy,” Hermione’s acid tones cut through the air like a knife. “I am dressed like a whore and I am not going out like this.”

  
  


Dean smirked and eyed her from toe to forehead very slowly. She was dressed in a silvery gray gown. The bodice was sweetheart cut and strapless, and flowed into the skirt seamlessly. Slits on either side came all the way up to her hips. The light fabric against her pale skin made the dark hair and eyes stand out. “A very, very expensive whore …”

 

Draco had to catch Hermione as she lunged. “This is silk! Do not ruin it, Granger, or I will break your neck with my bare hands!”

 

After the catfighting settled, Draco set Hermione down. Dean was cowering in the far corner, wild amusement still flickering in his eye while Hermione had murder in hers.

 

“I resent you both for acting like children and making me the voice of reason tonight,” Draco huffed, “but we are going to the ball and you two will behave or I will see to it that you are both overworked for the next eighteen months for my own sanity. Got it?”

 

“Yes,” came two sullen voices at once.

 

“Good. Now that we are settled, can we behave ourselves for the next ten minutes?”

 

Draco took Hermione on one arm, Dean on the other as they apparated to the old Malfoy Manor. Draco’s parents were allowing the event to take place there while they retreated to a private holiday on an island they refused to name for the sake of privacy and letting the attendees have their fun. 

 

Simple masks were provided, the kind that gave the illusion of a masked ball while doing absolutely nothing to hide the identities of the people wearing them. Draco helped Dean into his mask, and Dean moved to help Hermione while Draco managed on his own. They strode up the stone steps and into the archway. 

 

“This place looks …” Hermione began, but trailed off. The entire manor was decorated in jack-o-lanterns, paper bats, huge spider webs … and lights were strung in a very muggle fashion. 

 

“... familiar?” Dean offered, smiling. “It’s muggle themed. You will find caramel apples, candy corn and cider just inside -” he pointed helpfully. “Draco and I will be right along.”

 

As Hermione rounded the corner, Dean pulled a little gold vial about half filled and pressed it into Draco’s palm. Draco looked down, and when he realized what Dean was holding, his nostrils flared. “Dean, please tell me you didn’t drink this. You were getting lucky tonight anyway - you don’t need amortentia.”

 

“Not me, doofus,” he grinned. And waited, watching the look of amusement roll over Draco’s face. “Granger. I had to pick a fight with her to justify destroying those shit rags she planned on wearing tonight. But the look  _ and _ the luck are on her side. For once.”

 

“I should tell her what you’ve done,” Draco said, but the hesitancy took all hopes of Dean believing him and threw them out the window. “But I am curious to see what actually happens when Hermione lets loose. So you get a pass. But you also get babysitting duty. I expect she has enough class to not aim for the low branch fruit, but keep her from regretting her choices tomorrow or we will have to have a serious discussion.”   
  
“Noted. Now go spike the punch like a good Slytherin and let’s have a ball!” Dean cackled, scampering off after Hermione. 

 

*****

 

The night seemed to be a haze of golden light and electric emotions. After snacking on a bit of cake from the refreshment table and sloshing down two more goblets of crimson red liquid courage, Hermione let herself be pulled onto the dance floor. Normally shy and reserved, tonight she found her hips moving along to the music, and did not shy away when random dance partners touched her, bodies melding with the atmosphere as if their lives were ending when the sun came up and this was the final goodbye to sanity.

 

As the night wore on, Hermione found her arm being pulled gently. An average sized male with a vampire styled mask, wearing a black cape and black slacks fitted to his body’s every curve, was suddenly enveloping her into his grasp. Hermione did not pull away. Something about this person felt familiar. He smelled like soot and summer, the way the dew warmed on the grass as the sun rose. He had tousled black hair, and it wasn’t until she saw the top of his scar peeking out from behind the mask that she realized how much training dragons with Charlie had chiseled a hunk out of her friend.

 

It was loud. Hermione hooked her arm around Harry’s neck, pulling him down so she could whisper in his ear.

 

“Harry,” she began, suddenly conscious of how breathy her voice sounded aloud, “I’ve missed you something fierce!”   
  


“Don’t lie, Hermione, those yankee blokes must keep you busy with MACUSA,” he teased, kissing her on the forehead before taking her arm and spinning her twice to the beat of the music, before pulling her in to dance. “You look amazing,” he added, sheepishly.

 

“You look fit yourself. Wrestled any good dragons lately?” Hermione teased, earning a gruff little chuckle. Harry moved one hand to her waist, pulling her body so close that after the initial surprise, Hermione decided to throw all caution to the wind. After all, Harry had become fucking hot.

 

“I mean, yeah,” Harry coyly relented, as he leaned closer to her ear again. “But there’s another kind of dragon I wouldn’t mind going after …”

 

She let out a nervous, stammering chuckle. But now, the game was afoot. Hermione felt like she was still floating - why not have a spot of fun with an old mate? It’s not like it would matter after tonight anyway … Everyone drinking, unafraid of existing with each other. 

 

“I thought I was supposed to slay the dragon?” Hermione challenged, letting her hand trail from Harry’s hand up his arm, feeling the shape of the boy from her childhood who had changed so much in these few short years. It hadn’t hit Hermione how much she wanted to fuck him until this very moment.

 

Harry, almost without skipping a beat, let his own hand move up to trace a line along her shoulder to the back of her neck, leaving a trail of goosebumps. His fingers nested in her messy bun, then suddenly had grip on her messy bun, pulling her head back to expose Hermione’s neck. It wasn’t forceful, but it also wasn’t exactly gentle. All of it was incredibly sexy, Hermione realized. 

 

“Oh no, Miss Granger,” Harry teased. “We are outside of the office. It’s high time you let someone else do the work. But if you promise to let someone else take charge for once, I will promise to let you grade me in the morning.”

 

“In … the morning?” Hermione asked to clarify, becoming distracted when his lips began a slow journey of planted kisses from one ear to the other, Harry turning her head as he went. 

 

Once he got to the other ear, he leaned over to whisper once again, “I will even make you toast and eggs.”

 

“Your place, ten minutes,” Hermione gasped, detangling herself from Harry’s grip. “I’m getting my coat,” she said, making a pointed head nod towards Dean and Draco. 

 

Harry nodded. “Ten minutes. In twelve, you will be out of that dress.”

 

And then, he was gone - disappearing into the crowd after hurried instruction on how to find his rented apartment. Hermione was left, knees all but shaking, forcing herself to find enough composure to stand still and speak at normal pitches before making her hosts aware the house elves would have one less bed needing made up in the morning ...


End file.
